


Broken

by JocelynTorrent



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Lots of Angst, Romance, like I'm serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocelynTorrent/pseuds/JocelynTorrent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Celene goes through with her marriage to Cailan and how that changes her relationship with Briala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this warrants a warning, but just in case, there is a scene implied of consummation. It is consensual, but only out of necessity and is portrayed as such.

She told herself she would not love it. Alone with the Empress as they discussed Cailan Theirin, she swore it to herself. No matter what became of this alliance, she would not love what this marriage bore. Though she would always love her empress. Briala looked up into those bright, tear-stained eyes and made another promise. A promise to love her forever, to protect her and be there for her no matter what was to come. She sealed that promise with a kiss, tasting salt on Celene’s lips.

Letters came and went from Celene to Cailan, and Briala forced herself to read them all. The façade was so easy to see, Celene’s words forced and cold despite their intent. But the stupid dog king didn’t know any better, and drank in her words and begged for more. And Celene gave them, gave him everything he ever wanted. A beautiful, fertile wife and an Empire to call his own. They would laugh at his inept euphemisms in the cozy quiet of Celene’s bedchambers. Laugh long and loud to dull the reality. Then, when they could laugh no more, Briala would hold Celene fiercely tight as the Empress wept into her shoulder. The letter, crumpled tightly in Celene’s palm, would rub against her as she sobbed, and burn worse than any fire.

Cailan requested a visit, and Celene had to oblige. They had fought then, over whether or not Briala should accompany her. She was the Empress’ handmaiden. It was only right that she come along so as not to avoid suspicion. Celene had trembled beneath her harsh words, torn between the Game and her heart as she so often was. Briala felt her heart breaking as she gazed upon her Empress, suddenly so small and vulnerable. It was not unlike the way she used to behave in front of Lady Mantillon, before fear had beaten the impropriety out of her. But Celene did not fear Briala, and she did not have to hide. And Briala hated to admit that she wished she did. It would be easier, maybe, if she did.

Celene relented, as Briala knew she would, and they journeyed together to Ferelden. The land did, as a matter of fact, smell of dog, and Briala fought to keep her face calm as the King and Queen of Ferelden greeted Celene and her court. Cailan had bowed deeply and his lips lingered far too long on Celene’s hand. Briala felt a furious envy roil in her gut, and she dared look to Queen Anora for comfort. The Queen, however, was impassive, and Briala wondered if she truly didn’t see or if she’d seen it all too many times before.

The visit was a grand affair, and Celene played them all like Briala knew she would, smiling and laughing and humbling herself before the dog lords to seem approachable. It made Briala sick as she watched Celene’s smile, so fake and forced beneath her mask she thought it would crack her teeth. Cailan and his lingering eyes never noticed. She hated the way he watched Celene walk, and the way he unabashedly stared at her chest, which she had amplified just for him. Once, during a joke, he reached out and took the Empress’ hand, caressing it with his thumb. Briala’s body tensed at the thought of Celene’s hands, so soft and warm and gentle in the hands of that man. The man whose hands were no doubt calloused and cold from sword and shield. The man who had dared to pet his mabari before taking his seat. He was soiling it, soiling her. But Celene had just laughed and pulled it away coyly, as she had been trained to do. She was no stranger to suitors, no stranger to playing her beauty to her advantage, and Briala hated the way it came so easily to her.

She hated it so much that she broke one of their rules and snuck into the Empress’ chambers one night. If Celene was surprised to see her, she made no showing of it, and pulled the elf quickly into her arms. Briala held her tightly, kissed her tears as she always did, and begrudgingly felt relief at the fact that Celene was just as disgusted with herself as she was. She could only stay for a moment, but it was enough to keep her dagger sheathed for the duration of the visit.

It seemed like only moments after their visit, word had spread of Cailan divorcing Anora and announcing his marriage to Celene. The Orlesians had been astounded at Celene’s cunning and celebrated her as the greatest ruler since Drakon himself. There were balls and banquets and gifts and kind words and for the first time, it seemed that there wasn’t a price for the Empress’ head. And they played their part well, showing obeisance to Cailan and making him feel as if he still held power. Decorum kept Celene and Cailan apart during the evening, and it was the only respite Briala received. It was the only time she could be truly alone with her Empress, and most nights were spent in sadness. Still, she would take them over a single night apart.

The night before the wedding, Celene had begged her to make love to her. Briala held her in her arms, kissed her slowly and deeply and in all the spots she loved. The spots that the fool king would never come to know. They were hers and hers alone. He would never know how beautiful Celene looked breathless and overcome with lust. Never know the sounds she could make or the way she could make Briala move mountains with one look. He would never see the Empress in her pure form, never see the love that could radiate from a woman who spent her life hiding behind a mask. And she took small pleasure in that, even as Celene cried and murmured staggered apologies in between her moans.

Briala had never seen anything so beautiful as Celene on her wedding day. Celene believed she never looked good in white, but even Briala could see the surprise in the Empress’ eyes as she gazed at herself in the mirror. It was ornate, as everything in Val Royeaux must be, with a low bust and train that would run the length of the Grand Cathedral. It was littered with diamonds and strings of pearls and lacing and embroidering so intricate that it hurt Briala’s eyes to look at for too long. Celene’s hair was pulled up into a simple but beautiful style with ringlets around her face. Pearls were inlaid into her hair and a veil hung from a diamond diadem.

Briala didn’t know if it was fortune or bad luck, but somehow she was left alone with Celene for a moment. Her veil was over her face, which was so impassive it may as well have been carved from stone. In her hands was a bouquet of stunning white roses, and they trembled in her grasp. Briala knelt down on one knee and lifted the veil over her head. Foolishly, she imagined herself as the king, and the sight he would see today. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her. He would mess up her red lips as they kissed. She knew it.

“Remember to stand tall,” she had said to Celene when she saw tears lining her eyes. “Walk with a purpose.”

Celene nodded, blinking the tears away. She lifted a lace covered hand and brought it to Briala’s cheek.

“I will pretend I’m walking towards you,” she said softly. “And know than any smile I manage will be because of you.”

“Majesty.”

“I love you.”

The words made Briala shiver against her hand, her heart racing as tears lined her own eyes. But she would not be weak before the Empress. Celene needed her strong. She placed her hand over Celene’s and gripped it tightly. The lace pulled beneath her hand.

“I love you, too.”

“Bria,” Celene murmured urgently as they heard footsteps approaching. “Do not come tonight.”

It was an order. Briala managed a nod, sliding the veil back over Celene’s face before the other servants entered the room.

The wedding was beautiful. Celene’s entrance sparked awe throughout the cathedral and even Cailan looked magnanimous as he stood by the Divine and awaited his wife. Briala watched from the shadows beneath a dipped head as all the servants did. She watched Cailan’s eyes light up as Celene walked through the door, watched his smile widen, and saw the tender way he took her hand. When they said their vows, he seemed sincere. And when they kissed, Briala scratched her nails against the wall behind her. He did not smear her makeup.

She broke her promise that night and made her way through the passage to Celene’s bedchambers. It was unstoppable, this pull towards her Empress. She knew what was going to happen. They all did. And yet for some reason she needed proof. Needed something to shatter the fragile bubble she was living in. In some way, she deserved it. She had gotten complacent with Celene, complacent with their life so full of love and happiness, even if it was only for a few hours at night. She should have fought harder, dared more, or put poison in Cailan’s goblet. She should have done something.

Standing by the mirror that acted as the door to Celene’s bedchambers, Briala closed her eyes. She could hear them talking, Celene’s nervous giggle that was probably not an act. Cailan was confident and kind, making all sorts of promises he could never keep. Promises that it would be fine, that he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want. Celene had tried to mask her unease with lighthearted words, but even the doltish king could see through it because Briala heard him hush her softly, then it was quiet.

Briala listened as Cailan laughed at all of the buttons on her dressing gown, complimented Celene’s pale skin, and remarked at how soft she was. She listened as Celene asked him if he liked this or that with clenched fists. And she listened as the bed creaked and Celene let out a choked gasp of pain. She placed her hand on the mirror, fingers tensing and body shaking with rage. The dagger in her belt burned to be touched, to be used, but she simply placed her head against the mirror and listened as Cailan apologized and made more promises he could never keep, like when he promised it would get better.

He finished quickly, with a grunt and a heaving gasp and Briala heard Celene sigh. It was quiet for a few minutes, then she heard the covers shift. Cailan asked Celene if she was okay, and Briala could not hear her response. They spoke softly just out of earshot and Briala heard someone leave the bed. The door to the bedchamber was opened and Briala heard the guards at the door greet the king as he left. She barely waited for the door to shut behind him before she slid the mirror open.

Celene had been staring at the mirror and she closed her eyes as Briala stepped through. She was on the bed, naked and cocooned tightly in her sheets. Her dressing and night gown lay in forgotten puddle on the floor. Her face was red, eyes swollen from tears and lips swollen from kissing. Briala swallowed and closed the mirror behind her.

“No,” Celene murmured as she turned back around. The Empress was shaking her head, face buried into the bed as she fisted the sheets. “No. I don’t want you to see—

Briala hushed her, crouching at the side of the bed to be even with Celene. She placed a hand to Celene’s soft hair and stroked it softly. There was a love mark forming on her neck, purple and splotchy and Briala grimaced. The fool king didn’t know how to treat such delicate skin. Didn’t know anything. Briala traced her fingers along the mark, noting Celene’s heated skin. She grasped the edge of the sheets and tugged. Celene shook her head and gripped tighter. Briala’s hand found hers and held it softly as she undid the Empress’ grip. The sheets slid away, and Briala clenched her teeth. She was littered with love marks. Her chest, stomach, hips, even between her thighs all bore the same growing red stain. Celene recoiled beneath Briala’s gaze, pulling her knees to her chest as her eyes glazed over.

Briala reached out and placed her hand against Celene’s thigh. The Empress tensed for just a moment, then relaxed against her familiar touch. Slowly, Briala coaxed Celene out of her shell with soft touches and gentle kisses until the Empress finally opened her arms. She fell into them, holding Celene tightly and rubbing her back as Celene mumbled incoherently. Most notably, she repeated “he was gentle” and “I said yes” over and over. Not to remind Briala of what she’d done, but because she knew it was the only thing keeping Briala from murdering the king.

He probably was gentle, just unused to Celene’s delicate skin. And she probably did say yes, because she had to. That didn’t ease the burn of the dagger in her back. But it did remind the elf that this was not about her. She was not the one sacrificing herself. When Briala tried to replace Celene’s experience with a good memory of lovemaking, Celene hitched at her touch and quietly told Briala that she was too sore. Briala tensed over top of her and Celene’s hands went around her back where they found the dagger and dropped it to the floor.

“Hold me instead,” she pleaded.

And Briala obeyed, holding the Empress tightly all through the night, crying only when she was certain Celene had fallen into a fitful sleep.

Celene became pregnant quickly and again Briala didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand it kept the king out of her bedchambers, but on the other hand it had happened  _so quickly_. Less than a year after her marriage to the king. As expected, Celene now ruled Orlais and Ferelden, extending the Orlesian Empire back to its glory days. Cailan seemed more than happy to have her take over political matters, and Briala wondered if Anora had been the one to rule Ferelden all those years.

 She told Briala first, but the elf had already figured it out. They spent too much time together, and it had been far too long since her last bleeding. Briala didn’t want to admit to herself that Celene smelled different, that there was a change to her features she couldn’t place. She didn’t want to admit that something about her had changed. A glow or countenance that Briala couldn’t name but could most certainly feel. It made her crave Celene even more, and she hated herself for it.

She placed her hand to Celene’s still flat stomach and they were both silent. Briala knew she wouldn’t be able to feel anything but she pressed anyway. Celene’s stomach tightened beneath her palm and Briala noticed that she was holding her breath.

‘ _I will not love you,’_  she reminded it as her fingers tightened around the Empress. She sealed that promise with a kiss as well, placing her lips to Celene’s navel.

Pregnancy became Celene. Her pale skin glowed and her hair shined even brighter. The Empress began to crave strange things such as fruit that wasn’t in season and pickled boar’s feet. Her stomach began to swell and Briala hated that she loved to touch it, loved to run her hand over the life inside and marvel at Celene’s body. She would run her hand up and down her stomach idly as they spoke about names and what features they hoped it would have. Celene had said she wanted a boy, but Briala knew that she secretly wanted a girl. A girl that would be just as smart and tenacious as Celene was. A girl that would take her Empire over and make it better than her mother ever dreamed. But boys were safer, expected. So Briala entertained the idea of twins so that Celene could pick a girl’s name. Without hesitation, Celene met Briala’s eyes and said Briala’s mother’s name. It was a fantasy, but Briala couldn’t snap herself out of it as Celene traced her finger over her stomach and began to wonder aloud if their girl would have Briala’s curly hair and her blue eyes, a mixture of their skin color. How beautiful and smart she would be, and how Thedas would not be ready for such a woman. And she kissed Celene deeply, taking the Empress for her own and for the short time of their lovemaking, pretending that it was her child between them.

It happened so quickly. She had been summoned by the Empress and entered the delivery room where Celene was surrounded by the best midwives in all of Orlais. She was reclined against the headboard, her hair pulled back messily and plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her face was red, stomach oiled with something and ready to burst, and she cried out to Briala as another contraction fell upon her. The midwife called her a knife-ear and told her to hold the Empress’ hand as she pushed. Celene kicked at her in the throes of her contraction and Briala suppressed a smile as she climbed onto the bed and took the Empress’ hand, keeping her head down.   

It took hours. Briala squeezed Celene’s hand and dabbed at her brow with a wet cloth, fighting desperately to keep her emotion at bay. She hated every cry Celene gave, every gasp and hiss of pain. The Empress, in her agony induced delirium, kept requesting tea, and Briala would bring water or a poultice to lips every time, nodding consolingly as she complained of a headache. One of the midwives mentioned something about the bleeding, and Celene was asked to push again. Celene collapsed back onto the pillows, shaking her head, mumbling incoherencies about giving up.

Briala squeezed her hand and Celene found her eyes. She smiled at her and told her that she could do it. She adjusted her position and in the brief moment that her lips touched Celene’s ear, she told Celene to bring their baby into the world. Celene’s head raised from the pillow, eyes suddenly focused, and she squeezed Briala’s hand, teeth gritting as she pushed.

The baby came, large and pink and wailing. Briala peered over Celene’s legs and watched as it was swaddled. Celene’s grasp went limp in her own, the Empress relaxing against the pillows, pale and panting. Briala longed to kiss her, to embrace her, but in this room of strangers she could only hold her hand and try to remember her promise as the child wailed, vibrant and alive.

“I told myself I wouldn’t love her,” Briala said to Celene as she watched the now five year old picking flowers in the field. She had been appointed the child’s personal servant, and they never spent more than a few hours apart. “I swore it. That I could never come to love something conceived out of such a horrible situation. But then she has your hair, your nose. And she has that irritating presence about her. The presence that tells everyone, even at five years old, that she can do anything and do it better than it’s ever been done before. And she’s nothing like him at all. She’s truly yours and yours alone. And you should be proud.

“I suppose you won’t mind me telling you that I tell her stories of us. She’s too young to really understand. But I tell her about your laugh, and I try to describe your eyes and…Maker, Celene, there’s not a color in the world that matches them except her own. Sometimes it’s hard to look into them. Because if I look too hard I can see you, and I remember her birthday, the feel of you going limp in my hand. And I want to remember you as the bright, amazing woman that you were. I want to remember voice in my ear and the feel of your skin. I want to remember all the good, and yet I’m overcome with the bad.

“But I broke that promise. I want you to know that. I love her. I love her more than I ever thought I could. Maybe even I love her more than you, because she’s yours, and I know you would have loved her more than me. You would have been such a good mother. I’m trying my best but…I never had your patience. And she’s a willful child. Just like you were, I suppose. You would have made her so happy, a mother that she would be proud of. And I try to tell her every day just how wonderful you were. Cailan tells her too, reads her stories and speaks of your beauty. But he doesn’t know you like I know you, and his words pale in comparison. Mine do, too.”

Briala closed her eyes, tears falling down her cheeks. “Dammit, Celene. You should be here. You should…if you could just see how she—

“Bria.”

Briala turned to the small, blonde child at her side. She smiled, head tilted to the side as she studied the crying elf. She looked down for a minute, then produced a bouquet of brightly colored weeds from behind her back.

“For you.”

She took them slowly, crouching down as she sniffed the flowers and hummed happily. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

She smiled, reaching out to wipe a tear from Briala’s cheek, then something caught her fancy and she was off again, laughing and racing through the grass. Briala watched her go, clutching the flowers to her chest. The wind swept through the grass around her and the sun was warm on her back.

“You do see,” she said finally, standing once more to look at the sky. “You…thank you.”

She put the flowers in her pocket, then raced after the child, swooping her up in her arms and making her squeal with laughter. She kissed the girl’s cheek and held her fiercely tight. Then they walked home hand in hand as Briala told the child her favorite story: the one of her mother and how she sounded when she laughed.

 


End file.
